


in my heart (there's flowers growin')

by krystian



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Flowers, Gen, Gender-Neutral Frisk (Undertale), Implied/Referenced Character Death, Non-Verbal Frisk (Undertale), POV Second Person, Reader is Frisk (Undertale), Undertale Pacifist Route, is soft body horror a thing because it should be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:42:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28591935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krystian/pseuds/krystian
Summary: Your journey starts with a small daisy growing along the underside of your left forearm, right in the middle of a red burn blister.Well, it actually doesn’t start with a daisy. You assume that it had started way, way before that. You just hadn’t noticed. Because it hadn’t been much of a problem until now.
Kudos: 14





	in my heart (there's flowers growin')

**Author's Note:**

> this! has! nothing! to! do! with! flowertale! or! flowerfell!
> 
> seriously; flowers that grow in wounds have been a fanfic trope for ages now, so please. i barely know anything about flowertale/flowerfell - all i know is that they exist and that they're somewhat about flowers. 
> 
> in any case.  
> the title is taken from Arcade Fire's [Crown of Love](https://youtu.be/p9XX193hgH8), but I constantly listened to [The Red Strings Club](https://youtu.be/FO2nKz_tOds) while writing this

You wake up amidst a bed of pale golden flowers that cover your skin like silken blankets.

They’re soft, way softer than they have any right to be, but you’re not complaining. Their petals sway in a breeze you can’t feel on your skin, one that shouldn’t even exist down here, and they smell of spring and warm pie as you brace your hands against the ground to stand up, brushing the dirt off your clothes.

The flowers bow their small heads when you turn to leave, almost as if they’re watching you.

* * *

Your journey starts with a small daisy growing along the underside of your left forearm, right in the middle of a red burn blister.

Well, it actually doesn’t start with a daisy. You assume that it had started way, way before that. You just hadn’t noticed. Because it hadn’t been much of a problem until now.

It doesn’t really matter right now, you suppose while Toriel ushers you out of the Ruins and into the real Underground. Your fingers are tightly curled into her purple robe and you hug her goodbye one last time before she closes the door behind you. It feels final. 

Staring at the door, you lightly tug at the flowers coming out of your skin, rubbing the off-white petals between the tips of your fingers. It doesn’t hurt, it’s just a new sensation. It even tickles a little, now that you think about it.

Instead of disturbing the flower any more you leave it be and make your way through the snow.

* * *

There’s a certain kind of tranquillity in Snowdin that only early mornings and snow are able to create. Which makes sense, because it’s constantly snowy in Snowdin.

You feel like you’re not really dressed for this time of the year, especially because this deep beneath the surface of the earth, it’s way colder than it had ever been in your hometown, but you don’t complain. Mainly because you have no one to complain to. Not that you want to complain. It’s just

cold.

It wasn’t cold when you had been with Toriel.

Your force yourself out of your reverie by repeatedly slapping your already frozen hands against your cheeks, shaking your head. Your face tingles slightly, but now is not the time to ponder on what was and what could have been.

Snowdin is lively and cold at the same time when you pass through it, getting yourself a cinnamon bunny along the way. It almost tastes like the cinnamon rolls of the overworld, and you wonder how they’re able to recreate the taste.

The tall skeleton – Papyrus, your mind supplies helpfully – is already waiting for you when you finally decide to leave Snowdin, hidden behind icy mist. You look up at him through squinting eyes, waiting for what he has to say.

It’s almost a little fun, fighting him. He doesn’t hold back as much as Toriel did, but he’s also not very serious either. Or maybe he tries to be and it just isn’t working for him.

You’re having fun, you notice, jumping over the bones he sends your way and holding still when they are blue.

When a bone grazes your upper arm, however, you flinch back, holding your hand against the shallow wound. And that one, tiny mistake settles your fate. Because although Papyrus seems a little worried _(you can see it in his eye sockets),_ his attacks don’t stop.

You black out before your SOUL shatters into a million, tiny pieces-

-and wake up in a small shed with bars so wide that you can easily crawl through.

Most of your wounds have healed, although the little scrape from before is still there, on your arm, adorned by a small arrangement of snowdrops that sway their little white heads in a breeze that isn’t there.

When you touch them with your other hand it tingles lightly, and when you brush them aside, you can see that their roots run beneath your skin like veins. The skin is slightly raised where the roots are thicker, but – surprisingly enough – it still doesn’t hurt. It just feels a little weird.

Well, it doesn’t matter now.

You tug your sweater over the flowers, trying your best not to suffocate or squash them and leave the shed well-rested to confront Papyrus once again.

* * *

Your socks and boots feel permanently soaked when you enter Waterfall, trudging through water that is neither warm nor cold. But you don’t mind the current that drags you along; it’s nice, to finally have someone - or rather something - else point you in the right direction. Or at least what you hope is the right direction.

That is only until you meet Undyne, of course. Undyne, who is probably the strongest monster you’ve ever met.

You’re barely able to dodge the first hit of her spear, and it doesn’t help when she gives you little more than a tiny spear to shield your SOUL with. It’s relatively easy at first when the spears don’t magically appear on the opposite side, but even you know that you can’t dodge forever.

When a spear grazes your side and the effect of whatever she did to keep you from fleeing wears off, you try to run away, but she catches up to you a few moments later. You don’t pay a lot of attention to the burning in your side or the blood that you can feel oozing out of the wound as you stumble over your own feet, desperately trying to escape her wrath.

She catches up to you again and again, but you somehow manage to escape every single time, getting barely more than a scrape from each encounter until she collapses on the bridge above the… magma? You’re not quite sure, but you assume that it’s magma.

Undyne looks dehydrated _(or at least you assume that’s what dehydration looks like, because how would you know?)_ , and you hastily get a plastic cup of water to dump it on her head in the hopes that it’ll help. It certainly seems to somewhat ease her dehydration, because she only sends you another unreadable look before going back to where she came from. Which you don’t mind, of course.

You heave a relieved sigh, leaning against the water cooler as you try to catch your breath. It’s hot here, and every time you breathe in it feels as if dust and fine sand settle down in your lungs, but you push all these new sensations aside in order to focus on the wound on your stomach.

Carefully you roll up the hem of your already worn and torn sweater, inspecting the scratch that her spear left behind. It’s not a deep wound by any means, but the fabric around it is already a deep shade of red – and in its midst is a small, light pink flower. A water lily, if you’re not mistaken, with its petals hanging limp.

Trying not to jolt the limp plant too much, you get yourself another cup of water, slowly pouring it over the flower. You don’t know why you try to keep it alive – you should be getting rid of it, really, because you’re pretty sure that flowers don’t normally grow in people’s wounds, or at least you’ve never heard of it back at home.

But it perks up ever so slightly, and- no, you’ve done the right thing. You know you have.

The flower’s vines crawl beneath your skin.

* * *

Hotland, Hotland… it really lives up to its name, you now realize, dragging your feet through the dusty ground that burns the soles of your boots from below.

The heat is almost unbearable here, and you brush a few strands of your hair behind your ears. Not that it does much, but it’s a start in the right direction at least. The water lily that had been growing right above your hip has wilted; its petals turned into fine dust that spread across the area the longer you were in Hotland.

It doesn’t really hurt, but you can already feel something new blooming beneath the dying plant, trying to force its way through your skin to see the light of day.

You’re still thinking about the water lily when you enter a room covered in cobwebs, when you get tangled in said cobwebs and come face to face with Muffet. It’s really shouldn’t be a surprise at this point in time. The spiders crawling across your skin only tickle slightly and it elicits a few, nervous giggles from you, but then she brings out her pet and somehow it’s not funny anymore.

Her pet snaps at you with razor-sharp teeth, grazing your skin with each attempt, and you feel small rivers of blood run down your legs as you scramble upwards, away from it, but to no avail. It always catches up to you, no matter where you go.

Your heart is beating as fast as when you’d fought Undyne _(you wonder how she’s doing, but you decide not to dwell on it right now)_ until Muffet receives a telegram, and finally, finally spares you, telling you that she must have received a misinformation.

She clicks her tongue as she takes in your tattered state, climbing down from her spider web and stroking through your hair while simultaneously cleaning up your wounds and dressing them with what seems like bandages out of spider silk. “Hopefully I didn’t hurt you too much,” she says in a cheerful voice, tying the last few knots. “I believe we can get past this little… misunderstanding, no?”

You nod a little to show her that you’re not mad when she tugs aside the bandages she’s just created, leaning closer to take a look at your leg. “Is that a… flower?” she asks, tilting her head. “How curious…”

Oh, so it isn’t normal to bleed flowers down here, then.

Well.

Following her gaze, you lightly draw back the bandages yourself to look at the small, lilac plant sprouting from your skin. It’s a lavender, if you’re not mistaken.

Muffet takes a few of its pellet-shaped petals between her fingers, rubbing them softly. “It really is a flower! And what a pretty one at that!” she exclaims, looking at you with big eyes. “Does it… hurt?”

Surprisingly enough, it still doesn’t hurt, so you shake your head and pat her hand.

She hums one last time before getting up and offering you her hand, pulling you up as well when you accept it. And then, you’re off again. She waves goodbye at you with all of her arms, and you wave back.

* * *

The hallway is long and drenched in the colours of a sunset that shouldn’t exist down here, far beneath the earth’s surface

And at its end is Sans, waiting for you. Or maybe that’s presumptuous, and he just happens to be standing there because he wants to.

You reach him and he talks about judgement and love and something called LOVE, and then he stops talking and just – looks at you. For real. His right eye is shut, and at first you think it’s because he’s mimicking you, but then he tilts his skull. “what happened to you, kiddo?” he asks after a few seconds of silence.

You shrug, because you’re not quite sure what happened to you, lightly tugging at the flowers within your reach.

“you don’t know?” he says, and if he could raise an eyebrow, he probably would do it right now. “does it hurt?” Muffet had asked you the same question.

Most of the time it doesn’t hurt but you don’t know how to tell him that, so you shrug again.

Honestly, you’re not quite sure how he even noticed them. Most of the flowers are hidden beneath your clothes and bandages that used to be white, only peeking out here and there.

He mutters something that you don’t understand and then moves forward, holding his hands out so you don’t startle. “i’m just gonna have a look, alright?” he says, waiting until you show him a sign that you don’t mind.

You don’t know Sans that well, and he scared you pretty badly back there in the restaurant, but you nod after a few seconds, holding your arm out for him to see. It’s where the first flower is growing, after all.

When he runs his bony fingers over the daisy that refuses to die, he whistles softly, and you wonder how a skeleton can whistle without lips. His touch doesn’t hurt.

He doesn’t say anything about them, so you don’t say anything either. You stare at each other for a second. It’s completely silent. Birds chirping in the distance, the sound of flowers blooming beneath your skin.

Sans sighs, patting your head. “alright then,” he says, seemingly contented with whatever he’s found. “see ya, kiddo.”

You wave goodbye although you'd rather just stay with him, in this golden place that is neither here nor there. Because you're scared of what's coming next.  
  
But you can't. You've come so far, so why shouldn't you keep going, just for a little while longer? Even the mere thought of stopping makes guilt swell up in your chest, and it keeps rising until it pours out of you in waves, with every little, silent tear that runs down your face.  
  
You can't stay here.

The vines crawl with sins you haven’t committed as if they’re trying to escape their prison of flesh and bone. 

* * *

You walk through a bed of pale golden flowers, following Asgore through the throne room that is way too large for him alone.

You tell him you don’t want to fight, and he seems to understand, and then-

-then he attacks.

You’re caught off-guard the first time, and you throw your hands up to shield your face when he slashes with his trident, and you can feel blood coating your hands, but-

-but you’re not scared.

Death is kind to those who embrace it.

You wake up a few moments _(seconds? minutes? hours? days?)_ later with gorse growing inside your palms, and when you make a fist, its thorns pierce your skin and blood coats your hands again.

It hurts, for the first time, but you hold on to your weapon because you have no other choice. Your palms feel numb.

Then, you face Asgore again. You tell him that he’s killed you before, and he looks sad and his breathing gets all funny, but even that doesn’t stop him from wanting to fight you.

It’s the trident again, just that it’s a stab attack this time around, one that pierces right through your stomach.

The world around you goes dark once more.

The SAVE point glitters and glimmers beside you when you open your eyes and sit up, bracing your hands on the floor before remembering why that’s a bad idea.

You immediately flinch back, blood coating your hands again _(are your hands always this bloody? they haven’t always been like that, right?)_ , and they tremble only a little when you roll up the hem of your sweater and examine your stomach.

There’s a small marigold growing where your navel would be, perfectly fitted against your skin as if it had always been there. You lightly run the tips of your fingers over its petals before pulling your sweater over the flower.

You get up without using your hands and drag your body to where Asgore is waiting for you.

You don’t even make it past the first attack when fire magic shoots up from underneath you, singing your feet and sending you back into the sleep of the dead.

Your feet feel weird when you wake up. They don’t hurt, they just feel… weird.

When you look down at them, when you examine the bottom of your feet, you understand why.

A million tiny buttercups are covering the soles of your feet so you can’t even see the skin anymore, and it almost feels as if you’re walking on clouds when you take the first step. Whereas just closing your hand is painful, walking seems easier than ever before.

You ditch your already torn boots in favour of the new flowers and go to confront Asgore again.

(your feet are blistered and red and swollen by the time you reach the throne room again. it doesn't feel like walking on clouds anymore. more like walking on needles.)

Your breath hitches in your throat the next time you wake up because it’s dark.

Somewhat dark, not totally dark, but still too dark, darker than before, and you don’t like it and it scares you and- _and-_

Your hand shoots up to your eyes, carefully sweeping over the skin there so you don’t actually prick yourself with a thorn, and the skin over your left eye feels weird, almost not like skin anymore, and that’s because-

-because it isn’t skin.

You don’t know how it happened, but there’s a small, golden flower growing out of the empty socket of your left eye.

You try to calm your erratic heartbeat as your blood freezes in your veins, try to slow down your breathing as the flowers on your body curl up in fear, but it’s no use because, _because slowly but surely you’re more flower than human and you’re going to end up like_ him _and-_

It’s a horrifying thought, truly, because you don’t want to go blind and you don’t want this and what if he hits your heart and it turns into a flower and-

You suppress a shudder.

Is that what happened to the other children as well? Is that why the ground here is covered in golden flowers? Because they were like you? You curl up into a ball, trying to keep your limbs from shaking or the thorns from biting at your skin, but-

-does it really matter now?

You’ve come so far, and you can’t turn back, no matter how much you want to.

So instead of wallowing in your sorrow any longer, you decide to face Asgore once more. One last time, you tell yourself.

_(Even the flowers know that that’s a lie.)_

* * *

Flowey’s form is gigantic in front of you, reaching far up into the depths of the cave. Thorny vines are curled tightly around all of your friends, keeping them in place. But you’re not scared.

He’s just a flower after all, not all that different from you.

With each attack that Flowey unloads onto your small SOUL, with each bullet that he sends you way, with every time your fragile SOUL shatters, a small petal is added to the flower crown on top of your head, steadily growing.

They’re dark red, like your SOUL, hanging into your eyes after just a short amount of time, and you have to push them away in order to see with your remaining eye.

Spider lilies, you assume.

You wonder if that means something.

You wonder if the flowers will stay if you leave the Underground.

And maybe you should just stay here, then, before the people up there brand you as a monster.

You think you’d like to stay down here. With them.

Your SOUL splits in half once more.

Flowers keep growing beneath your skin.

Maybe you don’t have a choice anymore.

_(“Heavy is the head that wears the crown”, the flowers whisper in your ear.)_

**Author's Note:**

> sooo... that's that. this was supposed to be a lot more bloody but i just. couldn't. just didn't feel right.


End file.
